


Indefinite Article

by TalulaRosa



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Graphic Novel, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalulaRosa/pseuds/TalulaRosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after the events in “Chosen”, Buffy comes to terms with her feelings about the new order of things as one among many Slayers, and gets a little perspective via The Dreaming. </p><p>*This short graphic novel script would gladly welcome collaboration with any artist interested in experimenting, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indefinite Article

 

_Buffy opens her eyes in her old bed in her old room in her old house in her old town. She looks around as she sits up, then notices something glaringly new: a large black raven at the foot of her bed._

 

BUFFY: None of this exists anymore, you know. Or should I say “nevermore”?

 

RAVEN: Yes, yes, very cute. I sure never get tired of “nevermore” jokes. Not me.

 

_She walks over to her nightstand, covered in sentimental artifacts, and touches the cross that Angel gave her, displayed next to the Class Protector parasol, and a picture of herself, Xander, and Willow._

 

RAVEN: But, actually, you’re wrong. It might not exist out there, but it still exists here. As you can see.

 

BUFFY: Not the same thing.

_Faith’s knife materializes in front of her. As she reaches out for it, it turns into a cat and jumps out the window in slow motion. Buffy follows its descent, opening the window and leaning out. Instead of her front yard, we see a huge playground, stretching all the way off into the horizon. The cat lands on her feet and runs away._

 

BUFFY ( _scanning the playground):_ This part is different.

 

RAVEN: Different how? I don’t see anything new.

 

_In the playground below, off at a distance, we see a much younger version of Buffy swinging high on a swingset, surrounded by other girls running around, some in groups, some on their own, all looking fully engaged in their missions, whatever they are. Young Buffy looks around at them, her swing slowly coming to stillness._

 

BUFFY: No, not new exactly. It’s ancient. Prophecy dreams have always been part of the gig, according to Giles. But it’s changing.

 

RAVEN: A work in progress, you might say.

 

_Buffy climbs out the window and walks down to the ground, taking steps through midair as if going down a staircase. The raven swoops down next to her, hovering for a moment near her shoulder._

 

RAVEN: You mind?

 

BUFFY: Huh? Oh. Um, sure.

 

_The raven lands on her shoulder._

 

BUFFY: Very ‘Song of the South’-y.

 

RAVEN: Not sure I follow you.

 

BUFFY: You know, “Mr. Bluebird’s on my shoulder.”

 

RAVEN: Oh yeah. Zip-a-dee-do-dah. Nice little ditty.

 

BUFFY: Only seeing as how it’s _my_ dream, there just has to be some spooky twist to it. Mr. Blackbird, as it were. _(pauses)_ Who are you, anyway? I don’t remember ever seeing you before.

 

RAVEN: Oh, I’ve been around, you just haven’t noticed me. I work for the boss. Anyway, Mr. Blackbird’s fine. You can call me that. Or Matthew. Either one works.

 

_She walks closer to the playground equipment, seeing groups of girls running by, gathered together, milling around. Her younger self is no longer on the swing._

 

MATTHEW: Getting crowded in here.

 

BUFFY: It’s been getting like this for a while.

 

 _Next to the swingset, we see a small sandbox with some abandoned items inside: a bucket and shovel, a pocket watch on a chain, Mr. Pointy, a toy fire truck, a crossbow. Other girls continue to mill around busily in the background._ _A frail, pale, dark-haired boy wearing thick glasses and a grey t-shirt sits alone next to an enormous tome, intently reading a scroll of parchment. He alternates between watching the girls and poring over the parchment._ _We can now recognize a few of the former Potentials in the crowd, some with weapons, some with other items. One is opening a letter, another is gazing into a shimmering bowl, still another is casting runes. Two girls together are laying out a deck of cards._

BUFFY: This was mine, once upon a.

_Matthew perches on a swing while Buffy walks over to the sandbox, seeing that it has spilled over its borders. It continues to swell and overflow from its center, like a volcano. Another wide panel of the landscape shows that this is the source of the sand that covers the whole playground._

 

BUFFY: Guess I get to share this, too.

 

_She sees something coming up from inside the center of the flow and goes to get it, seeing that it’s a crystal ball, just before Kennedy runs up and snatches it away from her._

 

KENNEDY: I got this one, Buffy. You just relax. Go have yourself a nice little fantasy tryst with, uh, Ryan Gosling or someone. Whoever you breeder girls are lusting after these days.

 

BUFFY: But –

 

KENNEDY: No worries.

 

_She races off. Buffy walks over to the swingset and sits on the swing next to Matthew._

 

MATTHEW: Tough break.

 

BUFFY: None of this IS mine at all anymore, is it? I mean, I know I’m dreaming, but it’s not  . . . it’s not just _my_ dream. How does that work?

 

MATTHEW: Beats me. But didn’t you want to share it? At least you used to.

 

BUFFY: I did. I do . . . It’s complicated.

 

_They get up from the swings and walk away from the playground, along with one of the directional currents of the sand, as if on a riverbank. The sand, still flowing out of her old box, takes them into the old graveyard, where we now see the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign itself._

 

BUFFY _(suddenly):_ The boss of what?

 

MATTHEW: Huh?

  
BUFFY: You said you worked for the boss. Boss of what?

 

MATTHEW: Oh, that. For the Dream King. I thought you knew.

 

BUFFY: There’s a king? A King of Dreams?

 

MATTHEW: Sure there is. At least, that’s one way of looking at him. There’s other, er, definitions too. Like he ‘IS the essence of dreaming’ or that he’s a ‘personimacation” or something like that. I don’t really get it mysel --

 

BUFFY: But there’s actually someone in charge here?

 

MATTHEW: Well, yeah. Nice guy. Bit mysterious, kinda moody, maybe not as much as he used to be, though. Goes by just plain old ‘Dream’ most often, but I’ve heard lots of other fancy names.

 

 _They begin walking along the rows of graves, Matthew back on her shoulder. They pass the names of Jenny Calendar, Tara Maclay, Joyce Summers, Cassie Newton, Snyder,_ _Jonathan Levinson, Kendra, William Shankly, Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, and others who have fallen in the Buffyverse._

MATTHEW _(continuing, counting on the tips of his wing feathers):_ Let’s see, ahem. There’s Dreamlord, Dream Prince, King of Dreams and all those Prince and Emperor and Lord combinations, then there’s Morpheus, Oneiros, Oneiromancer, Sultan of Sleep, The Sandman, The Shaper of Form, Dreamweaver . . .

BUFFY: Okay, okay, I get it.

 

MATTHEW: Kinda like you. Well, sorta. You’re Buffy Summers, right?

 

BUFFY: Does the word ‘duh’ mean anything to you?

 

MATTHEW: Heh. One of your better quips. What I mean is, you’re Buffy, and you’re also known as The Slayer, see. The Chosen One.

 

BUFFY: Alias me, the One-Girl-In-All-The-World. Only . . . not so much anymore.

 

MATTHEW: What are you talking about? You slay vamps all the time. I’ve seen you. Demons too. Just the other night . . .

 

BUFFY: Sure, I still slay.  I meant the part about ‘one’. The Chosen ‘One’. ‘ _One_ Girl’. Now I’m just one of the ones. I’m not _‘The’_ anymore. I’m ‘A’.

 

MATTHEW: Not ‘The’ Slayer. ‘A’ Slayer. Gotcha. Well, didn’t you used to want that? To be like, what was it, “other girls”?

 

BUFFY: Yes! I did! And I DO . . . It was the right thing. And it’s much better this way. Much.  _(pause)_ I mean, it was my choice.

 

MATTHEW: Mmm. Choice of the Chosen. Has a certain poetry.

 

BUFFY: Well, you sure put ‘Poe’ in poetry.

 

MATTHEW: Now _that_ was cute.

 

_They stop in front of what had been her own grave after “The Gift”:  Buffy Anne Summers: She Saved the World a Lot._

 

BUFFY:  So, this Dreamboat boss of yours. What’s the deal?  Can you, like, call him here?

 

MATTHEW:  Ooh. That’s tricky. Better if you go to him.

 

BUFFY _(after a pause):_ Well?

 

MATTHEW: Well what?

  
BUFFY: So are you going to take me there or not?

 

MATTHEW: I think you have to do it yourself.

 

BUFFY: Great. What good is having a Disney mascot around for anyway?

 

MATTHEW _(ruffling his feathers):_ Hey, I’m no mascot.

 

BUFFY: Even one that doubles as a literary device?

 

MATTHEW: That’s just it. You have to use your own devices.

 

BUFFY: And just what are –

 

_She looks down and sees that the bucket and shovel from the original sandbox have appeared at her feet._

 

MATTHEW: Humph. Mascot.

 

_Buffy sits down and holds the tools for a moment, staring at them. Then she begins to build a sand castle, the sand appearing out of the tools as she works. After a few frames of this, she steps back and brushes her hands off. The castle begins to grow, at first maintaining its sandy form, then taking on more and more detail, becoming immense . . ._

 

BUFFY: You, uh, didn’t happen to be a white rabbit in a past life, did you?

 

MATTHEW: Government agent, actually. Long story.

 

_. . . until finally we see Buffy and Matthew gazing up at the entrance of the Dream castle, complete with Gryphon, Wyvern and Hippogriff at guard._

 

BUFFY: I take it this is his place.

 

MATTHEW: What was that you were saying about the word “Duh”?

 

_Matthew gestures to the guards._

 

MATTHEW: She’s with me, guys. It’s cool.

 

_They nod affirmatively. Matthew and Buffy proceed through the gate and up the massive stairs._

 

BUFFY: Impressive.

 

_They proceed walking down the lengthy entryway, framed on either side by enormous doors._

 

MATTHEW: Not too shabby, no. There’s a word for his taste, what was it? Obstalicious or something? Osteophallacious?

 

_Lucien sticks his head out one of the doors._

 

LUCIEN: Ostentatious.

 

MATTHEW: Yeah, that’s the one.  Slight change in management recently, but otherwise, same as it ever was.

 

_Buffy stops to peer into the room Lucien came from, the library._

 

BUFFY: This HAS to be Giles’ dream, right?

 

LUCIEN: Giles . . .?  Oh! Oh yes. Quite familiar with his work.

 

_He turns to an old-fashioned card catalog and pulls out a drawer, rifling through the titles._

 

LUCIEN:  Giles, Rupert. “The Travels of Ripper and Jenny, A Memoir”; “Once More With Darjeeling: Talks over Tea with Prog Rock Legends; “Sixteen Sonnets: A Reverie Whilst Punting in the Cotswolds”; “Overcoming Compulsive Cross-Referencing, A Manual”; “The Annotated Companion to Overcoming Compulsive Cross-Referencing, with Index, Footnotes and Glossary”; “Oh, Bloody Hellmouth: A Proper British Mystery In a Land of Demons and Monster Trucks” . . .

 

BUFFY: I should probably at least pretend to be surprised. And yet.

 

MATTHEW:  Say Lucien, any idea where the boss is?

 

LUCIEN: Taking tea, I believe.

 

MATTHEW: Thanks buddy.

 

_They exit the library and head into a corridor off the main entry hall, eventually emerging into what looks like a very formal high tea room. In full white robe and regalia, Dream is seated at the end of a long table, wearing an emerald pendant, with a set of fine china in front of him. He regards them wordlessly._

 

MATTHEW: Hey boss. Sorry to interrupt, but we have a guest. Pretty special one.

 

DREAM: You are The Slayer.

 

BUFFY: Been a while since I heard it put like that. But, yeah. Hi. You know me too, huh? Okay. Um.

 

_Awkward silence._

 

MATTHEW: Come on, don’t be shy. I know he’s a little intimidating at first, but he’s not so scary once you get to know him. Usually anyway. Tell him what you came here for. _(To Dream)_ And you, would it kill you to go through some of the niceties? Jeez.

 

DREAM: I apologize. Welcome, Buffy Summers. May I offer you tea?

 

BUFFY: That’s okay. I . . . I’m not much of a tea drinker really, much as Giles tried. Thanks though.

 

DREAM: Then let me make you more comfortable.

 

_The background shifts to a contemporary coffee shop, with a sign reading “Espresso Pump” behind a counter. The long table and high-backed chairs are replaced by a high round table with barstools, where he and Buffy are now seated opposite one another. Though the pendant remains, his formal raiment has been replaced by a white t-shirt and jeans, with high-top white converse. He pushes one of two beverages in a plastic cup towards her._

 

DREAM: Iced mocha?

 

MATTHEW: See?

 

_He flies from Buffy’s shoulder to the counter behind them._

 

BUFFY: Well, I can’t ever say no to that. _(Smiles)_ Thank you.

 

_Dream returns a gentle smile. They sip their drinks._

 

DREAM: What is it you seek here, Buffy Summers?

 

BUFFY: I’m not sure. You know who I am, so you know what I do. Well, did. Well, DO, but it’s complicated.

 

DREAM: I am indeed familiar with the succession of the Slayers. Their link to The Dreaming is an ancient one. All manner of prophetic dream lives come through my realm, and through me.

 

BUFFY: Guessing you probably also know the latest development, huh?

 

DREAM: Yes. Your innovation to change the epochs-long tradition was a bold one. A sacrifice, even. Sharing such a burden does not come without cost.

 

BUFFY: Yeah. I don’t know why it feels like that, though. I should be relieved. And I am, mostly. I am. But . . .I don’t know. Something feels lost to me. I can’t explain why.

 

MATTHEW: How did you put it to me again?

 

BUFFY: I’m not THE Slayer. I’m _A_ Slayer. I know it doesn’t make sense. I just have to get used to it. Really kind of a first world problem.

 

_She stirs her mocha with her straw._

 

DREAM: Ah. The transition from ‘the’ to ‘a’. A profound transformation, perhaps an underappreciated one.  From the definite to an indefinite article; from definite to indefinite state of being. I know something of this as well.

 

BUFFY: It’s better this way. I know. We’re already getting so much more done. It’s a whole team dream now. I mean in real life – we have squads and missions, everyone’s in on it, it’s great. This bitch got funding. ( _She laughs nervously.)_

 

_Dream regards her silently, though not unkindly._

 

BUFFY: Seriously. I mean it.  It’s great. I just . . . I guess maybe it would be nice to have something left for me. As myself. Not just living like a person. I always wanted that, but I spent seven years as The Slayer. Solo. Hard as that was, it became part of me. But now it feels like it’s not anymore.

 

_Dream gets up and walks to one of the bay windows. We see from behind him that he is surveying a barren desert landscape._

 

DREAM _(still facing the window):_ It was in this realm you learned that death was your gift. So shall you receive another gift. An option – a choice – usually reserved only for the dead.  

 

MATTHEW: Oh! I know! _(He flaps excitedly.)_ You’re gonna make her a raven too! You can do that because she died, like me! Right? Can she be a raven too, boss?

 

DREAM: That is not what I had in mind, Matthew.  _(He turns around.)_ Though . . . that, too, could be considered.

 

_They both look at Buffy._

 

BUFFY: What?  NO. I’m not going to be your girlfriend, dude.

 

MATTHEW:  . . . Dammit.

 

_Matthew flies off the countertop to the pastry display and begins pecking ruefully at a scone._

 

DREAM: What I offer is very simple, in fact. A place where you are The, once again.

 

BUFFY: I . . . don’t really get it.  You mean like a flashback?

 

DREAM: Of sorts. More like a haven. A haven of both memories and dreams, and memories OF dreams, some that you remember and some that you hadn’t before, that can all continue endlessly in the Dreaming.

 

_He returns to the table, making a scooping gesture into the air. His hand is now filled with sand. We see a tightly framed closeup of that sand, and zoom in further to see the same swingset we saw before, but this time with only Young Buffy, alone. A small red toy lies next to the swings that we can’t quite make out._

 

DREAM: This is all I can grant you, Buffy Summers. A place where you can be The Slayer, from time to time, when you need to be. The boon is simple, but it is yours alone.

 

BUFFY: Alone?

 

_She reaches her hands out, and Dream pours the sand into her hands. She looks down at the tiny swinging figure. We see her eyes well up with tears._

 

DREAM: You may take your time to consider this. _(He places his hand on her shoulder.)_ Fare you well.  If you so choose, we may meet again.

 

_Without fanfare, he is simply gone. Matthew flies over and perches on his empty stool, looking at her handful of sand._

 

MATTHEW: What do you think he wants you to do with that?

 

BUFFY: I’m not exactly sure. But something tells me it’s this.

 

_In a succession of panels we see: She closes her eyes and blows it away. The cloud of sand engulfs them both, and then settles around them. They are standing outside the gates of the castle, which becomes a normal-sized sand castle again. They look down at it._

MATTHEW: So you think you’ll take him up on it? A place to be the One and Only?

 

BUFFY: I don’t know. So much of me wants to, but doesn’t it seem like moving backwards? After everything I’ve done – everything WE did – to get away from that?

 

MATTHEW: But it’s not like it would change anything in the real world, right? He’s just giving you your own private dreams.

 

BUFFY: That’s the thing. My dreams, OUR dreams as Slayers – they’re connected to the real world. Anything I change here, could change the dreams of the others. I shouldn’t risk it. God it’s so tempting.

 

MATTHEW: The Last Temptation of Buffy Summers.

 

BUFFY _(giving him a look):_ Well, let’s not get carried away, now.

_She sighs and looks at the sand castle, in which we can now see what the indistinguishable red item had been: the toy fire truck seen earlier on the playground._

BUFFY: Oh  . . .  The floods.

 

MATTHEW: Come again?

 

_A look of dawning realization comes across her face._

 

BUFFY: I’m gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. That’s it.

 

MATTHEW: Right! No, wait, still not getting it.

 

BUFFY: A fireman. Not be _The_ Fireman. Be _a_ fireman. Indefinite article.  _(She smiles.)_ I always wondered what I meant by that.

 

_She squats down and gently picks up the fire truck._

BUFFY: It was cool of him to offer, though.  Tell him I said so?

 

MATTHEW: You bet.

_The sand castle below them loses form instantly, and then becomes quicksand. She drops inside it, where it whirls Matthew and her around as though inside a cyclone. Items and people from her past whirl by: the Scythe, a yo-yo, the Gentlemen’s box featured in Hush, slices of American cheese, Willow and Tara riding tandem on a broomstick, Spike’s amulet,_ _the cat we saw leaping out the window at the beginning,_ _and so forth._

_They eventually land back in her room. Still holding the fire truck, which is now about the size of a dollhouse accessory, Buffy walks to her window and looks out. Matthew alights behind her on top of Mr. Gordo._

MATTHEW: So there you all are. “Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

 

BUFFY: That about sums it up.

 

MATTHEW _(preening):_ You might say it’s apropos. _(He waits.)_ *ahem* . . . Apro-Poe.

 

_She gives him a look that clearly indicates “Groan.”_

 

MATTHEW: Too much, huh?

 

BUFFY: Even for me.

 

_Buffy goes to her nightstand and places the truck among the other mementos._

 

MATTHEW: I’ll just see myself out, then . . .

 

BUFFY: Oh, please don’t. I’ve already decided not to do the fortress of solitude thing, might as well host the occasional mascot. ( _She pats her shoulder, walking back to the window.)_ Plenty of sunshine heading my way.

_He obliges, alighting on Buffy’s shoulder as she pulls a chair up to the window, hugs a pillow to her chest, and watches. We close on the same playground dreamscape we saw before, chock full of Slayers plus one bespectacled, parchment-reading boy. At the furthest edge of the last frame we see another familiar sign:_

_“Now leaving Sunnydale | Come back soon!”_

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
